


Silvertongue

by happygolovely



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beheading, Bittersweet Ending, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Court Politics, Courtly Love, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Contracts, Major Character: Death, Marriage of Convenience, Mythology - Freeform, Psychological Horror, Royalty, Spells & Enchantments, Temporary Character Death, Tragic Romance, nygmobblepotweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygolovely/pseuds/happygolovely
Summary: Edward Nygma fell in love with Death Himself.





	Silvertongue

He is born with the eyes of a serpent and a forked tongue. A cursed, ugly thing. Sits in the cradle and a butterfly flies over him. Smiles happily and tries to snatch it up in his hands. Unfurls his tongue and swallows it whole. They call him changeling, begging for their real son to be returned to them. Left with this thing more creature then child.

 

They throw him in the river. He does not drown. They cut his skin. He does not bleed.  Fire, they decide. He is hardly more than seven when his father holds him over open flames.                                   

 

Screaming as the flesh is burned from his body. Hard silver scales underneath. He sheds his skin and never looks back. They call him many things. Serpent. Trickster. Riddler.

 

It becomes a game, never settling into one identity, never staying anyplace long enough that it matters. He is an unfixed point, a blank slate. Untethered and unencumbered. Until her.

 

The year 1905. The Edwardian Era. A ballroom. A dance. A death.  

 

Never really his to lose and yet he lost her all the same.

 

They bury her and he follows her down. Rips open the coffin and lies beside her in the ground. His hand on her cheek. “I’ll bring you back, my love. I swear.”   

 

She says nothing. He expected as much. Picks her up and carries her out into the night air. Home. Her body floating above his bed.

 

Mad with grief. Mad as ever. Summons demon after demon. Book after book. Travels halfway around the world. Finds an amulet encased in ice. Carves out the heart and takes it.   

 

Holds the amulet in front of the mirror. The edges of it start to crack and freeze over.  Steps through the looking glass.  

 

A tundra. A barren wasteland. Nothing but ice as far as the eye can see.

 

He holds up the amulet and it glows, a light shining on the ground. Follow the path it leads.  

 

A sea of black water. A man waits on a boat. Hand outstretched. “Do you have the payment?”  

 

Edward shows him the amulet. He nearly drops the oar.“Where did you get that?”  

 

“That’s none of your concern. Is it suitable?”

 

He nods shakily and reaches for it.

 

“Not yet. Payment for services rendered.”

 

“Come along then.” He climbs aboard and the ferryman takes him into the underworld. Water churning and howling. He leans over and looks down into the water, sees souls circling. Bodies dragged against the rocks and chained to the sea floor.  

 

Edward stumbles. The ferryman laughs at him. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened of a little water.”

 

“I fear nothing except what I’ve already lost.”  

 

The ferryman nods. “Tell me: was it curiosity or compulsion? It isn’t your time yet you crossed the veil of your own volition. Something’s drawing you here.”

 

“Love. I did it for love.”  

 

His smile drops. “How very dull. Never took you for a traditionalist.”

 

“I’m full of surprises.”  

 

A flicker of something flashes across his face too quick to be identified.  

 

“You certainly are. You’ll be wanting to see her then. Your Isadora -”  

 

“Isabella.”  

 

“Don’t let me stand in your way.” Gestures across the sea. She sits on rocks. Singing and combing her hair. He walks across the water and holds out his hand.  

 

Her smile nothing but teeth. Unhinges her jaw and tears into him. He falls into the water.

 

Hands dragging him down, down, down.  The amulet glows. The ferryman sets him free.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up in a silver bed. Soaked with seawater. Opens his eyes and gasps, heaving black bile out of his mouth. “My, my. That is attractive.” A figure in the corner, barely obscured by the shadows. “Take care not to dirty the sheets, dear. I prefer to do that myself you understand.”  

 

He wipes the bile off with the back of his hand. Vile. “Where is she?”  

 

The ferryman steps out from the shadows. Cloaked in feathers and jewels. Black velvet and silver rings. A twisted staff made of driftwood. Eyes sharp as the sky and twice as cruel.

 

“The bottom of the sea by now.”

 

“Bring her to me.”  

 

“You’re in no position to bargain with me. She’s of my world now.”  

 

His eyes flash to green slits. “I’ll take what’s mine.”  

 

“She was never yours for the taking.” The man looks at him consideringly. “You’re not mortal, not entirely. Something else altogether. One of mine perhaps.”  

 

“I am nothing of yours. Now, if you will be so good as to lead me to her, we’ll be on our way.”  

 

“Stay for the night. Leave in the morning.”  

 

“I see no earthly reason to-”  

 

“Dear traveler, this is not earth. Our reasons are our own. I shall see you at the ball tonight. The servants will prepare something suitable for you.”  

 

As he leaves the room, the feathers shift. Not a cloak after all.

 

“What is your name, sir? You never gave it to me.”

 

And with good reason. Names hold power and life. Not to be shared.

 

“You may call me Oswald if you wish. And yours?”  “Edward.” She likes to call him that, so that’s what he will be.

 

Oswald laughs, wings rustling. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”  

 

“We’re leaving in the morning, it hardly matters.”

 

He makes a noncommittal sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

 

“I’ll leave you to your preparations. What colors do you prefer - green? To match those eyes.”  

 

He blinks and they flicker back to brown. For now. “I prefer to look like this. She doesn’t - she hasn’t seen me yet, don’t reveal it to her.”

 

“Hiding your true nature never did anyone a bit of good. For your sake, I’ll keep her in the dark.“

 

He leaves and the door swirls shut behind him. No exit.  

 

Edward will find a way out of this place if it kills him.  

 

It just might.

 

* * *

 

The servants are a strange sort. Demanding. They step in shortly after Oswald leaves and drag Edward into the center of the room.  

 

Shove him into a pool of water and pull back his hair. Seaweed just behind his ear picked off, barnacles clinging to his skin scrubbed raw. A small crab climbs out from behind his neck and pinches his shoulder before scuttling off. It turns to clear and disappears into the walls. He is strangely envious.  

 

Once they deem him sufficiently clean, he is pulled out of the water and forced to stand. Various fabrics against his skin. They quibble over shade and form.

 

“Green.” He tells them. “I’d like something in green.”  

 

Stands in front of a mirror and adjusts his jacket. Not at all his usual fashion and not at all of his world. It suits him. He pulls open a drawer and finds a mask made of silver scales. If turned in the light it looks almost green. Puts it on. He looks at himself in the mirror.

 

Nothing human at all just silver scales, sharp teeth and green flames coming out of his hands. The mirror self smiles and vanishes. He throws the mask off and leaves it on the table.

 

Walks down the staircase and into the ballroom. Presents his pebble to a large lizard who takes it and sets it on a pile of identical stones, then lays across them tail flickering.

 

A collection of creatures, remarkable and rare. Horns, wings, tails, and teeth. They dance and dip through the shadows and candles float in the air. Crystal stalactites hang from the ceiling. A corpse slides off a stalactite and onto a banquet table. The animals pluck off his ears with their forks and haggle over his tongue.  

 

At the center of it all sits Oswald, a crown of ice circling his head. His wings spread out against the throne. Sea of servants and sycophants. He drinks his wine and stares out across the room bored beyond tears. Till he sees him.A smile spreads across his face.

 

He takes his staff from one of his servants and hobbles across the room. The crowds part and Edward meets him halfway.  

 

“You went with the green, how marvelous. Brings out your eyes.”  

 

He starts to bow and he pulls him up by his arm. “No, no none of that. You are my guest, not my subject. Sit.“ Oswald snaps his fingers and a nearby table clears entirely, as everyone springs up out of their seats. He pulls out a chair for him, hands brushing against his shoulders as he settles.

 

Shivers. This room is entirely too cold.  Oswald sits down next to him just a touch too close.

 

“I am so glad you decided to join us.”  

 

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”  

 

“There’s always a choice. You chose well. Now I have some questions about life on your side. It's been so long since I’ve left my kingdom.”  

 

He informs him of the state of culture, climate and current political atmosphere. Oswald seems particularly preoccupied with the monarchy. He doesn’t think very highly of them.  

 

“Inbreeding.” He says as he pours himself another glass of wine. “Bad for the soul. Not to mention the degradation of magical ability. They’ll never have a proper warlock on the throne if they persist in this manner.”  

 

“Perhaps it’s for the best. Magic belongs to the people not the crown.” Edward has dedicated his life to the pursuit of magical texts and scrolls, the majority of which are off limits to the public. The powers that be more interested in power than the preservation of the commonwealth.  

 

“Don’t tell me you’re an anarchist.” Edward grins. “Oh dear and we were getting on so well.”

 

“Not that I’m not enjoying your company, your majesty -”  He actually is, despite himself. “but why am I still here? I expected to be thrown out of your realm ages ago.”  

 

Travelers are seldom welcome in the kingdom, at least according to legend.

 

“Why for your reunion of course.” Oswald snaps his fingers and she appears. “Run along then.”

 

Edward squeezes his hand. “Thank you, sire.” He flushes. “Call me Oswald please, I insist.”  

 

Edward isn’t listening, running through the crowd to her. He sweeps her off her feet, laughing and smiling. He kisses her joyful and triumphant. He did it, he did it, he did it. He actually won.  

 

The music starts. A waltz. He turns her about the room, overwhelmed by the moment. She is as light as a feather. And just as alive. “Darling, darling let me hear your voice.” Smile empty as her grave. He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her. “Say something, why won’t you speak?”

 

A hand taps his shoulder. “May I cut in?”  

 

Turns around. Oswald, of course

 

Who is he to refuse a king.

 

Steps to the side and hands her off to him. Oswald slides in and places his hand on Edward’s, leading him into the dance. She stands aside, adrift.

 

Oswald’s hands on his own. The harshness of his skin. He tries not to think about it overmuch. The rest of the world falls away and he’s left with this. Nothing more, nothing less.  

 

“What have you done to her?” He demands as they step into the line of dancers and bow to one another. Their hands match up as they circle around each other.  

 

“Your darling is dead. She’s just a shade, little more than a shadow.”  

 

They spin and spar. Ebb and flow. The tide overtakes them.  

 

“Something must be done, it’s intolerable.”  

 

Oswald smiles sadly, not the least bit sad. “There’s very little to do. She is as she will ever be.”

 

“There must be something you want. Name it.”  

 

Oswald turns them and he follows his lead.  

 

“Don’t bargain with death. You will lose.”  

 

Edward stops them suddenly and Oswald nearly falls. A steady hand pulls him back.

 

“Try me.”  

 

They stand at the center. Dancers moving around them.

 

Edward falls to his knees before a king. The eyes of the court watching.

 

_Death Cannot Touch_

_Words Cannot Break_

_Leave Me, Grief Me_

_I Shall Not Forsake_

 

_What Am I?_

 

“Love, my king. She is my world entire. Let me have my world and let us leave yours.”  

 

“Your love died when she crossed my threshold. You have no right to what death has chosen.”  

 

“Mine is the only right. You choose wrong. Take another instead.”  

 

Oswald’s eyes flash to black. “A life for a life. Blood sacrifice.”  

 

He nods. “Very well. Who do you want me to kill?”  

 

A sword appears in the king’s hands. “Take her place. Stay with me.”

 

Edward takes the blade and turns it over. An inscription on the hilt, in a language he cannot read.

 

“What could you possibly want with me?”

 

“I haven’t decided yet. Let’s see where the night takes us.”

 

“I can’t stay for an eternity.”

 

“Stay a year, a century. When you leave you must return. I’ll have your winters and your fall. She can take the rest.”

 

They write out the magically binding contract. A year. Nothing more, not against his wishes.

She turns to life and he to death. When the year is up he is free. Unharmed and unbound.

 

Till the next year.  

 

Edward falls on his sword. He looks down and the blade runs clean through him, not a drop of blood. It doesn’t hurt at all. Oswald pulls the sword out from the stone of his chest and smiles. Places it back in it’s sheath and it vanishes.

 

“Nothing is going to harm you. I will never allow it.” Oswald taps the amulet and it burns bright through him, singeing his hand. He whispers a quick healing spell and the cut seals over. “Keep this on you at all times, never let me see you without it.”

 

“I have nothing to fear. Death has promised me shelter.”

 

“There are much worse things in this life than me.” He claps his hands and the courtiers disperse, whispering all the way. A mirror appears. Isabella trapped inside. “I’ll leave you to it.”

 

Edward presses his hand against the glass and she does the same. “Wait for me. I’ll return.”  

 

She nods and takes his hand through the mirror. The waves of the glass rippling. She kisses it.  

 

Fades away into another life, another world.

 

Life after death begins.

 

He sings for his milk and honey. Every night the king hosts a lavish banquet and every night he spins his riddles. Epics and enigmas, sonnets and cyphers. He holds the court in his hands. Confound and confuse. He captures a countess in a wordtrap and she is slowly devoured by the letter Q. Wild applause.

 

He specializes in illusions and text transmutation. Presses words against the walls and snaps his fingers. Figures dancing across the room, two dimensional rendered real. Plays the liar and strums the secrets spilling through the air. The court is a treacherous place and he places his faith in none except himself. He holds the king’s favor today but tomorrow the winds may shift. He is as constant as the sea and the sea spares none. Oswald smiles at him and toasts him with his wine. Edward goes on, a game for two played by one.

 

He stands and pours a liquid puzzle into a jar and spills it over the floor. It takes shape. A swan, a butterfly, a bird. It switches back and forth from image to image too fast to follow. Neither fair nor feather but something quite like each. He looks up for his approval and sees the servant slip something into his wine. His illusions crash down and seize the servant by the neck, pinning him to the wall. The guards hold Edward and he waves his hand over the glass and the wine starts to bubble. Flowers grow out the top in clusters that hang over the side. Cicuta virosa. Hemlock.  

 

“Sire, allow me the pleasure of disposing of this traitor myself.”

 

“Whatever for - Benvolio is an excellent poison master, I have no intention of replacing him.”

 

Oswald waves his fingers and the guards release him. He plucks the hemlock out of the glass and takes a healthy bite. Edward’s fingers slip and the servant falls to the floor, runs away quickly. He moves his hands in a triangular gesture, intending to pull the poison out of him. Oswald’s hands on his own.“There, there no harm done. Would you care for a bite?” He hands him a forkful. Edward declines. “Do you always flaunt your immortality or is this a special occasion?”

 

Oswald shoves a duke out of his chair and holds it out for him. Edward sits down, stepping over the duke’s face as he does. Takes the place of honor on his right side.

 

The king whispers conspiratorially in his ear. “Good to remind them who they serve. They haven’t sent an assassin after me in a quarter of a century but best be wary. Now would you like some arsenic or can I interest you in a slice of steward?” The poor steward’s head on the table. Edward takes a spoonful of arsenic, bitter as cream. Under his protection, nothing can touch him.

 

They spend the rest of the evening trying various poison and flavor combinations. Cyanide champagne, belladonna berry tarts. The banquet ends and they walk through the corridor laughing and falling over each other. The cyanide has gone to their heads.

 

The castle is cold, it’s walls carved from black ice. Edward tries to hide his discomfort but it’s readily apparent. Oswald takes off his fur and wraps it around his shoulders.  

 

They walk in the gardens of perpetual night. Nothing but darkness as far as the eye can see. The plants wither on the vine. He runs his hand through the dirt and pulls up ash. Salt in the air and fear in the water. The Dead Sea swirls and the trees tremble.

 

The castle sits upon a cliff overlooking the sea. Asymmetrical and irregular, it juts out against the landscape. No fair sky above, no kind road below. Just an ache that stretches from the soul.  

 

All harsh edges and cruel curves. Oswald takes his arm and leads him down the path and into a cavern. Walls of crystal refract and shatter. Bright phosphorus. The only light that grows here.

 

Oswald, shining under a blue light. “What you did tonight was either terribly foolish or terribly brave - is this a habit or yours? Excessive stupidity and nobility.”  

 

“Forgive me but where I come from poison’s not a delicacy.”

 

Oswald’s laughs and turns them around a corner, leading ever further into the light.

 

“The gesture is appreciated though entirely unnecessary. Never place yourself at risk for my sake. I am more than able to protect myself and have an entire army at my beck and call.”  

 

“You may have an army but you’ve never had me. That’s worth more.”  

 

Oswald smiles sharp and mocking. “You would defy your king?”  

 

“If he was wrong, yes. Someone needs to tell you the truth so you know what it sounds like.”  

 

“A loyal traitor then. That I can abide.”  

 

They turn the final corner and a basin sits at the center of the room. Edward looks in and sees the sky. Bright morning. She sits in a garden, sunshine abounds. A book in her hands and a smile.  

 

Oswald peers over him. “What are you seeing right now?”  

 

He smiles bright as her day. “I see my world and all its splendor. And you, what do you see?” Oswald looks in and turns away quickly. “Nothing of consequence. I am glad it made you happy, feel free to return whenever you wish.”   

 

Oswald leaves him there and he spends the rest of his night with her morning. Falls asleep watching her.

 

Wakes up to find himself still in the dark but that’s alright.

 

It’s getting brighter by the hour.

 

* * *

 

 

He makes a point of having a standing appointment with him every day, rearranges his schedule to accommodate his guest.The life of a king fraught with peril and paperwork.  

 

“You’re sparing me the tedium of the kingdom, thank you for that.”

 

He takes him for a turn about the gardens. The sparseness even more apparent under the cold moonlight. Edward taps three times against a twisted tree trunk. It screams back at him. The magic here corrupt neither living nor dead. “I am going to need access to all your agricultural archives.”  

 

“That’s very kind but the land runs on magic, it sustains us. We have no need fo-”  

 

“Your need is readily apparent. Allow me to remedy that.”  

 

He leads him into the library. Books flying through the air, random pages in shapes and spirals. They cluster like birds. As soon as they enter, they screech and attack them. Oswald just barely gets them out of the door before slamming it shut.  

 

“They’re very...spirited.”

 

“The librarian has been missing for half a century. There’s no one else in the kingdom with their grasp of grammarian and literary liturgy.”

 

Edward smiles somewhat sadly. “Isabella is a librarian. Perhaps I could ask her to assist once the year is up.”  

“She’s not magic. Doubt she’d be useful.”  

 

He frowns. “She is very accomplished.”  

 

Oswald waves his hand dismissively. “By mortal standards, I’m sure. She plays the pianoforte, speaks french and cuts a fine figure. Nothing beyond what is expected of her station.”  

 

“You know nothing about her. Don’t you dare speak of her in that ma-”  

 

“I’ve been doing my reading.” He summons a book out of the air. “The book of her life passes to me after death. It’s terribly tragic and poorly written.”  It is a remarkably short volume.

 

Edward tries to take it from him, he swats his hand away. “No reading ahead. You’ll upset the balance of things.”  

 

“Haven’t you upset the balance by trading her for me?”  

 

“I got the better end of that bargain and I am satisfied. That’s all that matters.” The book vanishes. “Now back to the question of your quest: we don’t have much by the way of librarians but can I interest you in a record keeper? She’s quite good even if her organizational skills leave something to be desired.”  

 

Edward constructs a shield out of mist and pulls open the library doors. “If she’s anything like whoever sorted this, I am better off doing it myself. Unless you would like to assist me.”  

 

Oswald shakes his head. “I have a council meeting to attend. Best of luck, try not to die.”  

 

“No promises.” He enters the fray and is immediately assaulted by a dozen dictionaries and encyclopedias. He holds up his shield and a ball of green flame. He lifts it up and the fire stretches across the ceiling. The books scatter and fly away, huddling in a corner.

 

“Now I am against book burning as a general rule, but I might make an exception for you lot. Unless you can behave yourselves. Can you do that for me?”  

 

They hiss and the one closest to him bites his ankles. He lashes out and it turns to ashes at his feet. All that remains is the cover. He takes the bookbinding and binds it’s magical core to his own. Flicks his finger and they all come running. Obedient dogs.  

 

He bends down low to speak to them. “I understand you’ve been given free reign here and I have no intention of domesticating you. Knowledge should be wild and free. However, it is also meant to be shared and you can’t very well carry on as you were. Let’s set some ground rules.”  

 

Oswald comes back an hour later to find him surrounded by a sea of happily flapping books. They soar back on to the shelves in an intricate ballet. Edward stands on a table, with a cluster of children’s books flying about his head. He holds a large tome and scratches its spine. It’s bookmark flaps out and wags like a tail. Who’s a good metallurgical text, you are, you are.

 

Claps slowly. “Well done, color me impressed.” Edward turns back on his heels and smiles, sliding down off the table. Bows elaborately.

 

“I serve at the pleasure of my king.”  

 

Oswald turns a color unavailable on the earthly plane. It’s a pinkish-hopeful-purple sort of thing. He lets out an embarrassed squawk, feathers ruffling.  

 

“I-well-I am pleased to find you so pleasurable. Pleasant. Pheasant? We’re having pheasant for dinner, would you like some?”  

 

“Thank you but I must decline, I’d like to stay here and sort through all the rest. Have you considered a lateral system, it would certainly be more efficient.”

 

“Whatever you think is best. Although, I insist that you have something.”  He waves his hands and the books are swept aside in a neat pile. In their place, a feast fit for a king.

 

And his favorite.  

 

A stuffed bird with a berry in its beak. Edward takes the berry out and sucks, the juice all over his hand. Oswald nearly spills wine in his lap.

Edward pulls out a chair and sits with a book floating beside his head, the pages turning themselves. They carry on their conversation and are nearly at the end of the meal when the book comes to something relevant. A family crest.  

 

“Did you mean what you said when we first met -do you really think I’m inhumane?”  

 

“Inhuman certainly. Inhumane remains to be seen. Although I don’t see the point in subscribing to the value system of an entirely different species than myself. You might as well ask me to follow a lizard’s code of ethics.”  

 

“I am not interested in a philosophical debate. I am concerned with my parentage. If you are correct and I am not entirely human, that there’s a chance I could find them. My family.”  

 

To think the monsters who raised him weren’t his monsters at all.

 

Oswald turns his wine glass over in his hand into an hourglass. Sand trickling down. “How familiar are you with changelings?”  

 

Edward’s eyes shift in fear. Serpent. “You could say I am intimately acquainted with them.”  

 

“Then you know there is every chance your birth was nothing more than a mistake. A cosmic switch. For every seven sons of earth, the seventh is not of earth. You weren’t stolen out of the cradle but from the womb itself. “  

 

“I need access to the birth records of your kingdom as well as a cross reference -”  

 

“Speak with the records keeper. Krisina. She’s unavailable at the moment, I’ll let you know when she returns. In the meantime, my archives are at your disposal.”  

 

Edward reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Thank you, sire.”  Oswald looks at their hands together on the table.

 

“Call me Oswald. How many times must I insist?”  

 

“I am only following proper protocol.”  

 

Oswald’s grip on his hand tightens.

 

“I have quite enough protocol in my life, I don’t need that from you.”  

 

“What is that you need from me? Please allow me to express my gratitude to you after everything you’ve done for me.”  

 

“You don’t need to prove yourself. Your company is all I ask for in return.”

 

“That’s not enough. Let me be of service.”

 

Oswald’s chair scrapes back from the table as he stands. “Servitude is beneath you and begging is beneath me. I won’t ask for your friendship if you are unwilling to part with it.”  

 

Edward sits back in his chair stunned. Friendship. From the king of death.

 

He made a strange god. He’d make a better friend.

 

“I accept.”  

 

Oswald stops halfway at the door. “Pardon?”  

 

“Your friendship. I’ll take it.”

 

Oswald beams. “Excellent.”   

 

Edward smiles back. He hasn’t had a friend not once in his life.

 

Figures it would take dying to find one.

 

* * *

 

 

Sea breeze spilling in. Staring out over the black water, unimpressed with the performance. If the dead insist on reenacting naval battles, the least they could do is make it interesting. Oswald twirls his fingers, purple sparks in the air. A leviathan appears in the water.

 

The ghost ship is overtaken by tentacles pulling it down into the depths. The spectators scream in delight, the competitors in terror.  
  
That’s more like it.

He turns to Edward beside him and finds his nose buried in a book, another flitting about his head. They have taken to following him wherever he goes. Impossible to see him without some trailing after him. Understands the sentiment entirely too well. He marks his joy by his presence, his misery by his absence. A king cannot spend his days chasing after a sorcerer. It’s undignified.

 

His kingdom his keeper. He has no other companion. Perhaps times have changed. “At least pretend to pay attention to me, would you?”  

 

Edward pops up. His book upside down. He looks out at the water. “Was there a sea creature there the last time I checked?”  

 

“There was not. Crowd control you understand.” Oswald gestures out to the sea monster, now tearing apart the stands and eating the first row of spectators.

 

Edward laughs and steals Oswald’s scrying glasses to get a closer look. “They are eating this up, aren’t they?”  

 

People from the third row are shoving people off from the second and so on and so forth. The beast devours them alive and everyone claps. “I understand my subjects very well.”  

 

Edward looks at him, amusement tinged with fondness. “You know how to win people over, that’s for certain.”

 

_tell me how to win you, how to steal you, take you out of the library and into my -_

 

Edward roars with laughter and clutches his side as the leviathan spits out the ship.  

 

Oswald’s smile grows and grows till it overtakes the air.

 

Victory is imminent. How sweet it will taste.  

 

_there must be something you want name it._

 

“You never gave me your inner name, your true one. Tell me what it is.”  

 

_let me summon you whenever i see fit, bind you, keep you_

 

Edward stops laughing. “They never gave me one. My parents- if they named me that would have made it real.”

 

“Would you like to have one?”

 

He nods. He would like that very much. Oswald leans up to whisper it in his ear, the sound of it carried away by the sea wind. Foreign and strange, a language lost to the ages.

 

The language of birds. Ancient and elliptical.

 

He wants to hold the birdsong in his throat, taste the melody.

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“It means many things. Trusted. Guardian. Friend.”

 

_love, i would call you love_

 

Edward repeats it over and over until he’s got the syllables.

 

The word tastes like salt and sealight. Mouth full of the promise of sky.  

 

He smiles around his name. The amulet glows.

 

Ed’s eyes shift to green. He looks out at the water. The sea has claimed another hundred or so.

 

“Shall we let this continue much longer or interfere?”  

 

Oswald weighs the burden of the people against their taxes and finds them wanting.

 

“If they want to survive they’ll have to fight for themselves.”

 

“Let them have a champion. Someone to speak for them, someone to fight for them.”  

 

“The position is yours if you feel so strongly about it.” Oswald summons up a jousting lance. “Provided you prove yourself worthy.”

 

He takes the lance and stands up from their private box, Oswald stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He takes a handkerchief from his sleeve and wraps it around his hand. “Return to me.”

 

Edward nods and the handkerchief melts down into his skin.

 

Marked by a king’s favor. The pattern of his crest embezzled into him.  

 

He takes up the lance and makes his way to the shore. The winds follow at his back. He reaches into the black sands and pulls up. The ground shakes and horses spring up, formed from sands.  

 

He takes one and rides into the waves. The others race ahead of him. They circle around the sea monster and tear into it. Trample it and pull down the water. He rides into its side and climbs onto it’s back. The horses' manes wrapped like ropes, binding it. It thrashes and roars.

 

It’s back coated in slick slime, he slides down its beak and clings to the edge, pulls himself up barely using the lance. He stands between its eyes, leaning against the lance. He pulls storm clouds and seawater out from the air and wraps them around his hands. Raises the lance in the air and it crackles with thunder.

 

He presses his hand against its skin and the lighting passes through. “You have a choice to make. I can make this easy on you. I can make it slow and painful.”  

 

The beast howls and roars, breaking free from its confinement.  He holds on tight, digging the lance into its flesh for support. “Very well. Slow and painful it shall be.”  

 

He emerges from the water, soaked in blood and smiling. Oswald waits for him out in the sands. “It’s time we made this official, don’t you think?” Oswald takes his hand, fingers on the crest. “Be my advisor, my guiding truth. Be the king’s hand.”  

 

Edward smiles. The crest glows bright. “I accept.”

 

Oswald raises their hands in the air. The crowd’s madness, the joy, and terror.  

 

The court watches on. A king’s favorite is rising.  

 

Favoritism never did sit well with them.

 

* * *

 

 

The power of names in magical theory is well documented and well founded. The fear of names more so. To have someone’s name is to hold their essence, their deepest self.  Oswald’s ownership of his name should disturb him much more than it does. Instead, it’s kind of a thrill. He has never had a true core, something to hold onto. Always shifting, ever seeking.

 

She gave him a name but it was hollow, human. Barely even a shell.  This is his bedrock. His foundation. He will build a monument on it.  He gets Oswald to say his name as often as he can, only ever in private. Toys and teases it out of him. Pesters and persists.  

 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a whisper or a scream. It sounds just the same.  

 

Oswald leads him up a spiral staircase to the top. “Close your eyes.”  He does.

 

“Open them.”  

 

A tower stacked with books as far as the eye can see. All his favorites, the ones he set aside for rainy days (it rains sideways here) and all his research. A circular window looking out on the water. A telescope. A stuffed owl that speaks fluent greek. A puzzle that changes shape every time it is touched. He tears through the desk and all the drawers. Pulls out hidden compartments that lead to different worlds. Reaches in and touches a tree, tears a leaf off the vine.

 

A curio cabinet.

 

He turns around in wonder. Oswald sits at the desk. The chair looks remarkably like his throne but in green.  

 

“You like it?” As if there was any doubt.

 

“It’s perfect..” Oswald’s feathers flutter at the praise.

 

“You deserve a workspace more suited to your talents. Besides, if we’re opening the library up to the people you will need privacy for your studies.”  

 

“You saw my reconstruction plans? You’ll need to take out the sections on dark magic, blood curses an-”  

 

“Nothing too dangerous must fall into the wrong hands, agreed. We’ll keep the best for ourselves and let them think they have it all.”  

 

No need to let the whole kingdom overtake them just for the sake of education. No need for education in the afterlife at all really. He indulges Edward in this as he does most things.  

 

They agree on the things that matter - magic, murder, and mutilation. That’s a start.  

 

“I have something else for you.”

 

Edward sits down on the bench by the window. “You spoil me entirely too much.”

 

“You have absolutely no idea.”  He reaches into one of the compartments. A cylinder falls out. He tosses it to him. Edward breaks the cipher, a code of clicks along the side. Presses down until it unhinges. A pair of spectacles made of scrying glass.

 

Puts them on and the world is thrown into sharp color. Things he has never seen before never dared to dream.  Twists his old spectacles up into heated metal and compresses them into a tight shape.He has a fresh pair of eyes.

 

Turns the gear on the side and looks at Oswald. Stumbles back.

 

His illusions stripped down. The magic he weaves to appear more human. His feathers no longer confined to his back, they stretch out into his hair and along the edges of his face. Jet black with a certain shine. His leg gnarled and twisted, the bone sticking out of it.

 

Eyes of the storm on the horizon. A brighter shade of blue than the human eye can perceive.

 

His feet up against the desk as he lazily summons up a document and presses his signet ring into the paper. The paper burns and glows. Turns into a winged serpent.  

 

“Be a dear and open that window for me, would you?”  

 

He does and the serpent flies out over the water. He closes it.

 

Oswald has taken his crown off and hung it on the back of the chair. His hands on his temples.

 

“Troubles abroad?”  

 

“The southern delegation is visiting next month. Why they insist on staying here is anyone’s guess.”

 

“Your sparkling conversation no doubt.” Oswald groans, his headache magnified. Edward steps behind him, hands on his temples. Eases the tension out. Oswald leans back into the touch and smiles. Feathers on the side of his face and around his eyes. One of them falls out under his touch and Edward tucks it into his pocket.  

 

“You’re very good with your hands, you know.”  

 

Edward adds a spark of soothing magic to his fingertip and presses it on his forehead. A single drop spreads like water across his skin. It ripples and moves under the bones of him.

 

“So I’ve been told.” He smiles. “Isabella is much the same, you both get this little knot just above your eyebrows-” His hands pull back. “Excuse me, I don’t know what came over me.”  

 

Oswald’s eyes snap open. “It’s alright, I don’t mind. You miss her that’s all.”  

 

He steps back. “Oswald, I - I must - I have something to attend to.”  

 

Smiles and waves his hand carelessly. “You are free to go. I will see you for dinner?”  

 

“Yes, of course.”  

 

He bows quickly and runs down the steps. Turns down a corridor and hides behind a stone column. Twists his fingers and transports himself down a puddle and into a cavern.

 

Looks into the basin and sees her. Sighs in relief. The image shifts. Oswald in the tower.

He waves his fingers over the water. Back to her. Back to him. Back and forth.  

 

One in the library, one in the tower. No telling which way it will end.

 

Overturns the basin and races back to the library. Slams the doors shut and seals them.

 

Waves his hand and walks up into the air on steps made of clouds. Pulls books off the shelves and they float behind him as he ascends. He sits on top of the bookshelf.  Pages spread out around him.

 

Doesn’t understand this, this thing that is happening. Life only gives you one great love.  

 

He followed her into Death’s waiting arms. An embrace he happily died for. 

 

Shakes off his influence. Enchantment.The most reasonable explanation for it. Runs a diagnostic, scanning his entire body for signs of magical interference. It’s much worse than he could have imagined. Protection spell on top of protection spell. Spells for comfort, easy rest and quiet nights. Tangled up in his hair is a charm to discourage headaches. Around his glasses, an invisible chain to ensure they always come back to him. He is locked up tight, confined securely by love. It protects and imprisons him.  

 

Affection and devotion all over: practically drowning in it. He sighs easy. It’s residual. Not mutual. Merely the warmth from the magic wearing down on his wards. He strengthens his mental and emotional blocks. Pushes him out as far as he can. It slams back up against him nearly knocking him over. The strength and force of it overwhelming.  

He checks his mind and finds him. Wrapped up in all his thoughts and tied inextricably to his soul. Soulbond. Those are few and far between. Can only be formed spontaneously by two magic users.

 

Oswald promised he could return in a year. Unharmed, unbound.  

 

Death is a liar.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> _“Soul bonds between friends are exceedingly rare although not unheard of. Most bonds are of a familial or romantic nature. They can only be formed with like minds and like hearts. The line between platonic and intimate bonds is merely a matter of perspective which Frederick The Fearsome demonstrated in his essay -”_
> 
>  

Edward slams the book shut. Unusual not unheard of. This closeness, this connection ever growing. That’s all there was to it.

 

Books spread out all around him. Research in tatters. He tore out his hair.

 

“Edward? Edward are you in here?”  

 

He swore and pressed his body up behind the bookcase and cast a small perception charm. Not invisibility, just something to offset perspective enough so prying eyes would slide past him.

 

“You can hide all you like but you’ve missed dinner and breakfast. You need to have something.”  

 

He winced. He was being irrational. Presuming romantic intention. Oswald had only ever cared for him and seen to his needs. As any good friend should. Ridiculous to think otherwise.

 

What would a god want with him? What would anyone?  

 

He steps out from the shadows and watches him. Oswald sets a tray down on the table and a candle. Summons up a single rose and places it between the pages of one of his books. He snaps his fingers and the flower vanishes. Sighs and sits down. Drinks from the wine glass on the tray.

 

“It’s a little early for that, surely.”

 

Oswald turns in his seat and smiles up at him. “I knew I would find you here. Sit down, have something.” He joins him at the table and spreads jam out on toasted misery. It pairs well with boysenberry. They finish their meal and head into the council chambers.  

 

He takes the seat of honor beside the throne and so they begin. The council is old and implacable. Blind, deaf and dumbfounded. An intruder in their mists, a foreigner on the throne. Not yet but only a matter of time, if the castle rumors are to be believed. They say he has the king enthralled, a silver tongue and a heart of stone. Cunning and calculating.  

 

The Riddler seizes the kingdom in a single stroke. A brush of the hands was all it took.

 

He lays out his proposals for agricultural reform, magical literacy and enchantment education. The king smiles with pride and the council looks on in fear. They knew how to navigate his tempers and tempests but this is something else altogether. A storm unknown.

They look at the new player on the field and find him entirely too well positioned.

 

He should be well poisoned instead. They turn to each other and nod in silent agreement.

 

They will eliminate the threat to their power when the time comes.

 

Edward goes on, unaware and uncaring. Oswald beside him, admiring.  

 

The fall is eminent, Your Eminence.

 

The southern delegation arrives that night by summonset. They stand at the pinnacle of a pentagram and the Queen of the South bows before the High King.  

 

Oswald takes Sophia’s hand and helps her to her feet. They smile at each other.  

 

Her ladies in waiting behind her. Her ladies in wailing beside her, their weapons on display.  

 

Oswald leads her up to the banquet table. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”  

 

They assess and find the other inadequate. Edward bows and she smiles.  

 

“I heard you had a visitor, how long has it been since you had one of those?”  

 

“You know very well there’s never been anyone. Don’t fill his head with your flippancy.”  

 

She turns her head to the side demurely. “My apologies. It’s good to meet you, Edward. I’ve heard so much about you.”  

 

He glares. “What is it that you have heard exactly?”  

 

She makes a casual, careless gesture. “That you’re nothing of consequence or conscience. You have no interest in the kingdom except for the crown itself. Or perhaps the head that wears it.”

 

Oswald chokes on his wine and sputters. “Edward is my very dearest friend, nothing more interesting than that.”  

 

She smiles warm and welcoming. “If that’s the case and you remain unattached than you must consider my proposal. We would make quite the alliance. Think of the things we could do. ”  

 

Edward’s heart falls out underneath the tablecloth. “Keep those thoughts to yourself, my lady. The King has other matters to occupy himself with.”  

 

“The only thing occupying his attention these days is a riddle he will never solve. The kingdom is starting to notice. Do you think they will look kindly upon an outsider on the throne?”  

“I am not an outsider. My place is here beside him. Advising him.”  

 

Her eyes narrow. “Your place is in the mortal realm if you’ve forgotten. Winter is closing and soon you will be home with your beloved - does anyone actually remember her name, it’s slipped me entirely.”  

 

“Isabella.” Oswald says quietly.  

 

She snaps her fingers. “Yes, that was it. The precursor, the prologue. No one actually reads those, you realize. In any case, if not me then it must be someone. My king, you are free to keep your plaything -” They open their mouths in protest and she silences them with a wave of her hand.  

“but you must take a consort before the winter’s end. A true one, one of Gotham.”  

 

He laughs. “I have ruled alone and alone I shall remain. I don’t need a wife nor a husband. I have my kingdom. What more could I possibly need?”  

 

She raises her hands in a triangular motion and turns the air. The room hot with summer’s heat.

 

“You need your heart of ice intact.”  

 

Oswald reaches into his coat and opens up his shirt. Skin turned translucent and blue. Cold heart melting, slowly and steadily. At the center of the ice, a songbird sleeps. A robin.  

 

“Decide quickly. Choose wisely. My offer is still on the table.”  

 

“You don’t want me. Only the crown.”  

 

She laughs. “Oh my foolish king, what does marriage have to do with wanting?”  

 

She sweeps out of the throne room and Edward orders the guards to seize her. She turns to breeze and slips through their hands.  

 

“OUT! EVERYONE OUT!” He yells and it reverberates against the walls, pushing the court out of the room. He wraps his hands around Oswald’s shoulders and holds him. “It’s alright, it’s alright we’ll find a way out of this.”  

 

Oswald weak and fading fast. His hands reach up for his cheek as he collapses. Edward levitates him out the door and into the royal bedchamber. Places him under a stasis spell to sustain the ice for as long as possible. Transports himself to the Hall of Records.

 

The Records Keeper waits for him. She looks remarkably like Isabella. He disregards this information and files it away for another time. “I am going to need your birth records for the last two hundred years.”  

 

He scours and searches all through the night. Finally finds himself amongst a viper’s nest. A line going back to Gotham’s beginning. He wakes him up from his sleep and the bird in his chest sings. Oswald smiles up at him and he breathes a sigh of relief. Collapses against the pillows.

 

“You were right, of course. You’re always right. I’m not human after all and I don’t want to be.”  

 

Oswald stretches across the sheets and reaches for him. “Edward, what’s going on where are w-”

 

He rips the fabric of the sheets and wraps it around their wrists. “My king, do you trust me?”

 

“With my life, with my death.”  

 

Edward whispers the binding spell and the crest on his palm glows. The sheet turns to rope.

 

“Do you let me walk with you?”  

 

“Edward, you can’t do thi-”  

 

“Walk with me through the shadows. Please, allow me to save you as you have saved me.”

 

Oswald leans up and presses their hands together.

 

“I will walk with you.”  

 

“And keep on walking, come what will?”  

 

“I will.”  

 

Edward presses their foreheads together and the magic binds them. Palms and paths intertwined.

A beak taps at the center of the ice and breaks through. A songbird flies out from his chest and lands on Edward’s shoulder. The ice reforms around the space he has taken.  

 

“How can I ever repay you for what you have done for me?”  

 

“Let me have her still. Let ours be a marriage in name only.”  

 

Oswald smiles tight and pained. “Yes, of course. You will have your freedom and I will have my kingdom. I do expect you to at least maintain the illusion for the court. Sophia’s spies are everywhere.”

 

He nods. “Naturally. We will also need to have a public ceremony for their benefit. Do you think it will be difficult to convince your people you care for me?”

 

“Not terribly, no. And you? You’re a gifted performer but there are some things beyond stage.”  

 

Edward thinks about how close he came to losing him entirely.

 

“Not terribly, no. I must see her first. She has a right to know.”  

 

Oswald smiles, knowing how soon he will return. Knowing that every spring turns to winter.  

 

“Give her my best. I’ll see to all the preparations. All you have to do is be there. “  

 

Edward leaves the bed and presses a quick, gentle touch to his shoulder.

 

“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”  

 

He steps into a mirror and vanishes. Oswald falls back against the sheets and smiles brighter than he ever has in his not-life. He has a royal wedding to plan.

 

* * *

 

Edward returns to life as he has never known it. Goes to her townhouse and finds it boarded up. Looks to his own and finds it abandoned. Searches and seeks her in every stranger on the street.

 

He goes to her family and they tell him she is in Arkham. He opens the asylum gates, overgrown with ivy. The cobblestones wretched and weeping. Magic does not live here only misery.  

 

They lead him to her room. She sits in a chair overlooking the water. The walls covered in black ink, sketches dripping down the walls. Ice and feathers, skulls and scythes. A castle on the water.

 

He turns her around in her chair and she looks right through him with blank white eyes.

 

“Who’s there?” She clutches the shawl around her shoulders. “Please say something.”  

 

He takes her hand in his. “My dear, I’ve returned for you just as I said I would. What are you doing in this place, we need to get you out of he-”  

 

She reaches out for him and feels his cheek. “Edward? Edward, tell me it’s you. It’s been so long.”  

 

He hushes her gently. “Only a couple of months, now let me just attend to your eyes and we will leav-”  

 

She pulls back from his touch. “It’s been seven years. I thought you had forgotten me.”  

 

He nearly loses his balance. Pulls down the stars and finds them in entirely the wrong position, looks to the trees and finds them bare. He presses his fingertips against her forehead.

 

Echos and screams of the damned. Death and decay. Blue, mocking eyes. Underneath it all he finds her sitting in a gilded cage. A prisoner of her own mind. He pulls at the bars and burns his hands. Steps back from her mind and she smiles sweetly up at him.

 

“Isabella, I swear to you I wil-”  

 

“Edward? Edward, is that you? Edward can you hear me, please don’t leave me.” She clutches desperately at his wrists, looks at him with unseeing eyes. “Tell me you can hear him, tell me that it’s not just me.”  

 

“I’m here, I’m here - nothing can harm you.”   

 

Her head turns and she reaches out through the air and catches the bird on his shoulder.  

 

Feathers falling from her hand.

 

“He is here. Death awaits you. Oh my love, what have you done?”  

 

“I did it for the love of you. Everything I ever do is for you.”  

 

Tears stream down her cheeks. “Not for me I think. Not even for him. How long have you known? You were never mine to hold. Never mortal.”  

 

His eyes flicker to green in fear. “You’re -you’re seeing things, you’re mad.”   

 

“I see nothing and everything. Clarity of vision granted to those who’ve passed the veil. You should have left me dead. It would have been kinder. You have a husband to be getting back to. Be careful of that one. He’s tricky.” She tilts her head, listening to the wind.

 

“I suppose you like that sort of thing.”  

 

He falls to his knees and clings to her skirts. “The only sort I like is you, it’s only ever been you.”  

 

She reaches down and kisses him full of regret.

 

A knowing and terrible smile. “You like me well enough to die for me. That’s all.” Turns her fingers and a mirror appears. She’s picked up a few tricks in the past seven years. “Leave me. Not that you weren’t going to regardless but since you’re asking for permission this is me - telling you to leave. Let yourself be happy for once in your afterlife.” She smiles and it’s real this time. “After all you’ve done for me, allow me to do this for you. Go free.”

 

Twirls her fingers once more and a wind carries him back past the veil. She turns back around in her chair and sighs. All these years of waiting and for what?

 

She stands up and pushes open the window. A feather in her hand. She raises it to the sky and steps out. Her eyes turn back and her hair falls free.

 

She leaves madness behind her and walks into the sky.

 

* * *

 

It’s him, it’s him. It’s always been him. At the center of all this gore and grief. Edward locks the doors of the library once more and retreats. Buries his head in sand colored paper. Unlocks the restricted section and decides how to kill a king. Slow and painful, almost certainly.

 

He has his nose deep in ancient text when a hand snatches it out from under him. He looks up and sees the queen that might have been. Sophia. She glances casually at the book cover before throwing it in the air and incinerating it. He reaches for the ashes and she grinds them beneath her feet.

 

“Allow me to be the first to console you on your impending nuptials. My deepest sympathies.”  

 

He hisses and his forked tongue sticks out. “As I recall, you envied my position not so long ago.”  

 

“There is nothing enviable about the position you are in. Or will be shortly. I’ve come to strike a bargain with the new king of Gotham. I’ll take the throne and you take the man. Dead or alive.”  

 

“There’s no killing him or you would have done so long before now.”  

 

She holds up her hand to correct him. “There is one way. I was resolved not to resort to this method as it is so distasteful but you may be up to the task. You’re going to have to fuck him.”  

 

His mouth drops to the floor and rolls over into a corner. “Excuse me.”  

 

“I know, I know - he’s terribly hideous but needs must. To kill a god, you must become godly. Endowed with divine essence so to speak. After it’s over and you’ve opened your eyes, you’ll find yourself a thousand times more powerful than before. Strong enough to kill a king.”  

 

“Don’t talk of such things. He is my king as well as yours. You would do well to remember that.”  

 

“The walls have eyes as well as ears - I know what he has stolen from you. I can give it back.”  

 

She snaps her fingers and the Records Keeper appears. Her resemblance to Isabella even more striking than before. Sophia runs her hand down through her hair and it turns to gold.

 

“Not quite the same but a close enough approximation. Do you find the terms satisfactory?”

 

He reaches for her and her hands are trembling. He pushes them aside. “No. I don’t want this. I want him dead. That’s all. Nothing more or less.”  

 

She smiles and the Records Keeper fades back into the pages. “Excellent. Now to the matrimony at hand - can I count on you to perform your marital duties?”  

 

He tries not to think about that. He thinks of little else. “Yes.”  

 

“Try to enjoy yourself at least a little. After all, it’s not every day you marry a king.”  

 

She kisses his cheek and leaves the library, a trail of dead leaves falling behind her.

 

He sits down on the floor surrounded by scattered pages. He wishes he had never met her, never met him. Never came to this godsforsaken place in the first place. He takes off his glasses and wipes away tears. A solid hand on his shoulder and another on his chin. He looks up.

 

Oswald smiles down at him.

 

“Welcome home, dear friend.”  

 

* * *

 

The ceremony takes place out on the water. They stand on a ship surrounded by the court.

Their hands bound together with rope. Oswald smiles up at him, brighter than anything he has ever seen. Edward opens his mouth to scream and his mouth fills with seawater. The ship goes under the waves and down to the depths of the Abyssal Plane. A sea of light and luminescence. Strangeness abounds and terror lurks. A castle carved from seastone at the heart of it all. Volcanic ash fills the water. The ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean floor and she stands.

 

The Lady of the Deep awaits them. Oswald falls to his knees before her and quickly pulls Edward down with the rope. The court follows suit. She picks Oswald up by his chin and smiles.  

“My child, it is so good to see you. How many years has it been?”  

 

“Too many, Queen Mother. Although last we saw each other, you nearly had me killed.”  

 

She waves her hand dismissively. “Bygones of a bygone era. Introduce me to this riddler of yours, I’ve heard such awful things. I hope he lives up to his reputation.”  

 

Oswald smiles triumphant and terrible. “This is my intended - Edward, this is my mother.”  

 

He bows slightly and kisses the ring on her hand. “Queen Mot-”  

 

Her bright eyes shift, colors changing too fast. “Call me Fish. We’re family after all. I trust you haven’t completed the ceremony yet?”  

 

“Not without you, never.”  

 

“As it should be.” She takes their hands and secures the rope more tightly. Presses her hand against it and it burns into their skin, branding them. Cool saltwater in the wound.

 

“Do you have the sword?”  

 

They blink and look at each other. She rolls her eyes and grabs Edward by the neck, reaches down his throat and pulls out the sword. She reads the inscription off the side. Abyssal Speech.

 

Oswald gives her his true name quietly.

Edward does the same.

 

She whispers their names into the blade and the inscription glows with white light. Takes the sword and cuts their hands. They press their blood together and the water takes them.

 

Their foreheads pressed together and Oswald leans in. Kisses the air underwater. Breathes divine life into him. Edward breaks and clings to his shoulders. Nearly falls down as his skin ripples.  

Sheds his mortal coils revealing silver scales underneath. Eyes turn to green and a forked tongue slips free. Edward looks down at his hands and sees the scales. Shudders in revulsion.

 

He is hideous. Monstrous.

 

He closes his eyes, can’t bear to look at himself. “Open those eyes, let me see you.” He does.

  
Oswald presses a kiss to his hand and smiles up in wonder.

 

“Beautiful, you are so beautiful. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to see you?”  

 

He surges forward and kisses him, nearly pulling Oswald off the seafloor. He laughs and presses up into the kiss. Feathers spreading out in the water.

 

Kneel on the ocean rocks as she places a circlet around Edward’s head. Carved from bioluminescent light and terrors of the deep. They stand and the court bows.  

 

Oswald offers up his hand and he takes it. Leads him into the seabed.

 

A curtain of seaweed surrounds them as he lays him down in the water. The eyes of the court watching them. Oswald kisses him and all he can feel is saltsaltsalt and shellshock. He pulls back and takes his glasses off and they fall to the side rusting. Edward pulls him down and tries to breathe, tries to find something like air. He looks up to the surface and cannot see the sky.

 

Cannot see anything. Cannot feel anything that isn’t him. He sobs against his mouth and the saltwater is no different than the sea. Who would notice. Oswald pulls back and touches the corner of his eye. “This isn’t right.” He snaps his fingers and the court disappears.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong, what am I doing wrong?”  He runs his fingers through his curls. “Edward, please tell me. I want to make you happy.”  

 

He smiles through tears and kisses him softly. “I have never been so happy.” Pulls him in deeper into his arms and wraps his hands around his shoulders. Kisses him and tastes despair and decay.  

 

Oswald smiles and shakes his head. There’s no understanding this man but he will do his best. Kisses him and remembers how it felt to hold the sky. To fly.

 

Alone within each other. Drown together, bound together. For this eternity and all others.

 

* * *

 

They lie entangled in the seaweed and in each other. Edward stretches and his bones bend with light. He looks down at himself and he is glowing. Bright and green. He turns to Oswald still asleep in the waves. His feathers spread out all across, starfished with his head pressed down into Edward’s neck. His arms wrap around his waist. Oswald snores bubbles and they pop.

 

If ever there was a time to kill him it would be now. He lies back and falls fast asleep.

 

They live underwater for seven days, emerge only to eat and drink. They eventually return to court life. Newlywed and the newly dead. Edward lies down and Oswald pours ambrosia down his throat, nectar of the gods. Edward pulls feathers from his head and sharpens them for quills, for daggers. They sit on their respective thrones as the court swirls on around them.

 

Never taking their eyes off each other.

 

Their marriage of convenience growing more convenient by the hour. Edward is restructuring the library as a public sanctuary, reforming the education department and examining the finance reports. Oswald sits on his plush throne and watches him with pride.  

They sit in the throne room and listen to the people’s court. Oversee the weekly complaints of the common people. Resolve a very serious dispute over chicken ownership and an issue of witchcraftiness. The farmer’s daughter hands Oswald a basket of eggs that glitter under moonlight. He decides on the spot not to kill her father despite his fowl crimes.

 

They walk through the halls of eternity. Slowly and steadily Edward drops his illusions. Silver scales shine through. Oswald falls in love with glimpses of the man he married, although he seldom sees him. That’s alright, it’s enough to sustain him.

 

Edward longs to reach across the gap between them and hold him as he did that night. He does not. For Isabella’s sake, his marriage will remain a cold one. No matter what he may wish.  

 

On the seventh month of their first year, she appears. The Queen of The South in all her finery and fury. “I see married life is treating you well. Did you think I would forget your promise?”

 

He waves his hand and the door slams shut and she is locked up tight in a prison of her own design. “I have no intention of killing my husband, our king. He is still of use to me. For now.”

 

She snarls and lunges forward pulled back by chains. “I bet he made himself real useful on hi-”  

 

“Enough. Let us come to an arrangement. You will leave us be and I will spare your life. Fair.”  

 

She spits in his face. “More than fair, my gracious king.” She twists and the chains come loose spilling to the floor and turn to snakes. She disappears into the floor.

 

Reappears in the council chambers with her head held low. A veil across her face. She rips her veil to the side and throws herself at their feet.  

 

“My lords forgive me, I have the most troubling reports I - I had nowhere else to turn.” Shakily she hands them a memory crystal and breaks it in half.  

 

The king consort kissing a mortal woman the day before his wedding.  

 

She covers her face to hide her tears. “It is treason of the lowest sort, there can be no forgiveness for such a crime against the crown. It is not my place to determine his fate but sirs in your wisdom I ask you to spare the king this pain. He need not suffer.”  

 

An elder advisor helps her to her feet and leads her to a chair. She sits down and the court convenes. Drink to their black hearts content and smile.

 

The trial begins tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Edward has resolved to love his husband. Whatever that may mean, whatever sorrow that may bring him. He walks through the hall to the king’s chambers and the guards seize him. He is dragged into the tower and summarily tossed to the floor. Reaches for the door frantically and it disappears beneath his touch. His tower has been stripped bare of all it’s magic and wonder.

 

Cold and isolated, nothing remains but stone.

 

Flicks his hand and the door doesn’t move. Turns his fingers and the windows won’t open. Summons a fire only for it to burn out. They have taken his magic.

 

What more can this place possibly take from him. He sits in the corner and spins stories in his head. Oswald has grown tired of him. Oswald is bored. Oswald will execute him in the morning.

 

He shakes his head and displaces his doubts. His king loves him, he is certain of this if nothing else. Although he has never said as much it is clear with his every word and gesture.

 

Oswald hasn’t betrayed him, he would not. That leaves the council, the court and her.  

 

She did not act alone. When all this is said and done he will root out the treacherous and see their heads on spikes. Hers, he will keep. Mounted above their bed.  

 

He crawls about the floor looking for hidden locks and hinges. It would be so like his husband to leave him a way out. He is prying a rock off the wall when they open the door and drag him into the throne room. A court of owls, kangaroos and jackals staring down at him. Sophia at the center. She smiles at him and claps her hands. Parchment unfurls. “Shall we proceed?”  

 

The evidence of his infidelity is overwhelming. He is tried for adultery, treason and sorcery.

 

He laughs at the last claim.

 

“Name a single man in this land who does not practice magic and I will show you a dead man.”

 

Sophia leans forward in her throne so like Oswald’s. “You bewitched the king with your riddles and lies. Betrayed him at every turn. You are his undoing, the ruination of a kingdom.”

 

Edward smiles and bares his fangs. “Not his undoing. Yours. I am the bringer of chaos, the lover of Death Himself. You are nothing but a usurper. Bring me my king, only he can judge me.”

 

“You lost the right to speak to him. In fact, you lost the right to speak at all, guards cut out the liar’s tong-”  

 

“Why stop there?” Oswald emerges from the shadows and sits on the arm of her throne. Takes her wine and drinks from it. Brushes back a strand of her hair. “Off with his head.”  

 

The guards seize him and force him to his knees, hold him against the ground. Shackles burst from the stone and wrap around his ankles, his wrists. Oswald holds his chin and pulls a sword from the air. “Not to worry, my love. This will only hurt a little.”

 

His head rolls across the floor. Two more heads spring up to take its place. Edward smiles at him twice over. Oswald throws his misplaced head back and laughs. The head rolls on the banquet table and blinks up at the court. They bury it under the tablecloth. It chatters and chides them.

 

Oswald leans over and caresses his cheeks. They lean into the touch. Whispers in one ear and it’s out the other. Winks at him. “Play along darling and don’t lose your pretty little heads about it.”  

 

He leans back up and his eyes shift. Mad, merciless. “Sing for me. Let me hear you.”

 

Edward arches forward, words spill from him in a trance.

 

_Death Cannot Touch_

_Words Cannot Break_

_Leave Me, Grief Me_

_I Shall Not Forsake_

 

_What Am I?_

 

“Love has nothing to do with this.” Oswald says derisively. 

 

His eyes snap open. “It is everything. You took everything from me. Who is the betrayer? The king or the fool who believed him. You broke your vows. I never broke mine.”  

 

“You chose her.”  

 

“You offered me a choice.”  

 

“YOU CHOSE WRONG!” He holds onto the throne to stay steady. “Tell me why I should spare you. As I have spared no one else.”  

 

Edward looks to the floor with false humility. “I was never yours. You made your vows, I never returned them. Our marriage was never consummated and is therefore legal void. Annul it.”  

 

Oswald smothers a laugh and he nods.“Our marriage was a cold one.”  He reaches through the air and Edward feels the phantom sensation of fingers against his skin. “Cold it shall remain.”  

Ice spreads out from his heart and into his lungs, overtaking his entire body. He falls to his knees before a king and his court. The king smiles down at him as his world fades to winter.  

 

* * *

 

He is born with wings on his back, feathers so dark you can barely see the violent sheen. His mother cries and smiles, cradling him in her arms. A miracle, a blessing.

 

Tells him to be proud of his gift, his mark. Sews all his clothes with room for the wings to grow, to spread. He is still learning to soar when they cut him down. Blades to his back, face shoved into the dirt. Feathers and blood on the ground.

 

They burn his mother as a witch and he runs into the fire, wraps himself around her. Magic crackling through the air to form a barrier around her. He pours all of it into the pendant around her neck, layers, and layers of protection spells. It’s not enough. She burns up under his hands, the wind carries her away. The pendant falls to the ground. He sits in the ashes, sobbing and clutching it in his hands.

 

He comes for them in the night. Rips out their throats with his teeth. Their backs laced with scars to match his own. Burns his village to the ground in an instant, purple flames in his hands.

 

Buries the pendant in ice. Feathers fall from his shoulders, new ones take their place.

 

Out of the water emerges his Other Mother. She takes him into darkness and darkness is where he dwells. For the next hundred years or so he unlearns humanity until he becomes immortal.

 

Not once does he wish for life after death.

 

Until a man bearing his mother’s pendant comes to his shore.  

 

Till he learns to breathe underwater.  

 

The consort’s corpse locked in the tower. Far from prying eyes. He lowers the defensive barriers and steps through the door. Frost bites the air and fills the room. Edward up on a pedestal.  

 

Oswald brings his lips to his and the ice shatters. Cold water floods the room and they float up to the ceiling. Edward gasps for air and clings to him. Oswald pushes his hair out of his eyes and brings his scepter up against the stone. Smashes through the roof.

 

Drags him out the side and lays him against the tower tiles. Edward struggles to regain his breath and Oswald struggles to regain him. He puts the protection amulet back around his husband's neck and his clothes turn dry as steam rises out of them. He takes his wet fur coat and shakes the water free. Wraps it around him and breathes hot air into Edward’s hands.  

 

Kisses his knuckles.

 

_forgivemeforgivemeforgiveme_

 

“Stay with me.”

 

Edward looks out at the black water. He can’t remember the last time he saw the sun.

 

Glows bright and green. Pulls an ice dagger from what remains of his heart.

 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”  

 

Oswald smiles and pulls down the stars. Wraps them around his neck and pulls him down into his arms. “No one will love you as I can, no one will hurt you as I can. We are the same.”

 

“You don’t deserve me.” He is certain of this, if nothing else.

 

He runs his hand across his cheek. “Perhaps not. Perhaps neither of us is worthy of the other. Yet it’s what we cherish. What we choose. Love is not love that asks for worth or measurement.”

 

Edward captures him and the dagger falls to the ocean below.  

 

Spiral ever downward, ever doomed. They don’t care.

 

They charge through the castle. Oswald bashes guards’ heads in with his scepter, Edward pulls the air from their lungs. Enter the throne room. Oswald twirls the bloody scepter and smiles. Feral and ferocious. Edward up against his back. Twin green and purple flames. Oswald looks over his shoulder for permission.

 

Edward nods.

 

They light the throne room on fire, burn them all alive. Screams and seared flesh, ash and ivory. The animals run with their heads cut off and Sophia is tied to that throne she holds so dear.

 

Her eyes roll back in her head and black water pours out. She reaches out a shaking hand and pulls Oswald forward. Disintegrates into the ocean wind, the air carries her words.

 

_never trust a two headed snake, my king, one never knows where that silvertongue has been_

 

Edward pulls the scepter from his grasp and shatters the wind.

 

Looks up at him and sees his heads turn in unison. Two sets of treacherous eyes.  

 

Oswald’s traitorous heart beats out his chest. A songbird sings.

 

Leads him down into the water and out to the shore. They stand at the edge of eternity.

 

Edward grabs him by the throat and sinks his fangs into his lips. Drains him dry. Pulls back bloody and beautiful. He chases after the ichor in his mouth. Smiles.

 

The king goes weak and falls against him, hand on his own mouth. He smiles brighter than ever.

 

“It’s to be like that is it?”  

 

“Banish me if you know what’s good for you.” He twirls the scepter in his hands and transforms it into a cane. He hands the cane to Oswald. Steady and sure. “Same time, next year?”  

 

“I’ll be waiting.”

 

Steps through the mirror and into sunlight. Spring blooms all around him.

 

Pulls a flower from the ground and watches as it withers in his touch.  

 

Winter comes quicker every year.  

 

He can hardly wait.

**Author's Note:**

> The language of birds is very ancient, and like other ancient modes of speech, very elliptical; little is said, but much is meant and understood.  
> — Gilbert White, from Letter XLIII, Selborne, 9 September 1778, The Natural History of Selborne (1789)
> 
> tumblr: happygoloony


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